Odds Against Page 24

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know all about that.’

  Chico turned away from the window, his face lightening into a near grin, ‘You don’t say,’ he said.

  ‘He wouldn’t have believed it if I’d given in sooner, or less thoroughly. Kraye would have done, but not him. It was very annoying.’

  ‘Annoying,’ said Chico. ‘I like that word.’ He paused, considering. ‘At what moment exactly did you think of sending Bolt to me?’

  ‘About half an hour before they caught me,’ I admitted. ‘Go on. What happened next?’

  ‘There was a ball of string on Radnor’s writing desk, so I tied old Fatso up with that in an uncomfortable position. Then there was the dicey problem of who to ring up to get the rescue squads on the way. I mean, the Seabury police might think I was some sort of a nut, ringing up at that hour and telling such an odd sort of story. At the best, they might send a bobby or two out to have a look, and the Krayes would easily get away. And I reckoned you’d want them rounded up red-handed, so to speak. I couldn’t get hold of Radnor on account of the office phones being plasticated. So, well, I rang Lord Hagbourne.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘Well, yes. He was O.K., he really was. He listened to what I told him about you and the boiler and the Krayes and so on, and then he said, “Right”, he’d see that half the Sussex police force turned up at Seabury racecourse as soon as possible.’

  ‘Which they did.’

  ‘Which they did,’ agreed Chico. ‘To find that my old pal Sid had dealt with the boiler himself, but was otherwise in a fairly ropy state.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘For everything.’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘Will you do me another favour?’

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘I was supposed to take someone out to lunch today. She’ll be wondering why I didn’t turn up. I’d have got one of the nurses to ring her, but I still don’t know her telephone number.’

  ‘Are you talking about Miss Zanna Martin? The poor duck with the disaster area of a face?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, surprised.

  ‘Then don’t worry. She wasn’t expecting you. She knows you’re here.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘She turned up at Bolt’s office yesterday morning, to deal with the mail apparently, and found a policeman waiting on the doorstep with a search warrant. When he had gone she put two and two together smartly and trailed over to the Cromwell Road to find out what was going on. Radnor had gone down to Seabury with Lord Hagbourne, but I was there poking about in the ruins, and we sort of swapped info. She was a bit upset about you, mate, in a quiet sort of way. Anyhow, she won’t be expecting you to take her out to lunch.’

  ‘Did she say anything about having one of our files?’

  ‘Yes. I told her to hang on to it for a day or two. There frankly isn’t anywhere in the office to put it.’

  ‘All the same, you go over to where she lives as soon as you get back, and collect it. It’s the Brinton file. And take great care of it. The negatives Kraye wanted are inside it.’

  Chico stared. ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘But everyone… Radnor, Lord Hagbourne, even Kraye and Bolt, and the police… everyone has taken it for granted that what you said first was right, that they were in the office and were blown up.’

  ‘It’s lucky they weren’t,’ I said. ‘Get some more prints made. We’ve still got to find out why they were so hellishly important. And don’t tell Miss Martin they were what Kraye wanted.’

  The door opened and one of the pretty nurses came in.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go now,’ she said to Chico. She came close beside the bed and took my pulse. ‘Haven’t you any sense?’ she exclaimed, looking at him angrily. ‘A few quiet minutes was what we said. Don’t talk too much, and don’t let Mr Halley talk at all.’

  ‘You try giving him orders,’ said Chico cheerfully, ‘and see where it gets you.’

  ‘Zanna Martin’s address,’ I began.

  ‘No,’ said the nurse severely. ‘No more talking.’

  I told Chico the address.

  ‘See what I mean?’ he said to the nurse. She looked down at me and laughed. A nice girl behind the starch.

  Chico went across the room and opened the door.

  ‘So long, then, Sid. Oh, by the way, I brought this for you to read. I thought you might be interested.’

  He pulled a glossy booklet folded lengthwise out of an inner pocket and threw it over on to the bed. It fell just out of my reach, and the nurse picked it up to give it me. Then suddenly she held on to it tight.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘You can’t give him that!’

  ‘Why not?’ said Chico. ‘What do you think he is, a baby?’

  He went out and shut the door. The nurse clung to the booklet, looking very troubled. I held out my hand for it.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘I think I ought to ask the doctors…’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘I can guess what it is. Knowing Chico. So be a dear and hand it over. It’s quite all right.’

  She gave it to me hesitantly, waiting to see my reaction when I caught sight of the bold words on the cover.

  ‘Artificial Limbs. The Modern Development.’

  I laughed. ‘He’s a realist,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t expect him to bring fairy stories.’

  TWENTY

  When Radnor came the next day he looked tired, dispirited, and ten years older. The military jauntiness had gone from his bearing, there were deep lines around his eyes and mouth, and his voice was lifeless.

  For some moments he stared in obvious distress at the white-wrapped arm which stopped abruptly four inches below the elbow.

  ‘I’m sorry about the office,’ I said.

  ‘For God’s sake…’

  ‘Can it be rebuilt? How bad is it?’

  ‘Sid…’

  ‘Are the outside walls still solid, or is the whole place a write-off?’

  ‘I’m too old,’ he said, giving in, ‘to start again.’

  ‘It’s only bricks and mortar that are damaged. You haven’t got to start again. The agency is you, not the building. Everyone can work for you just as easily somewhere else.’

  He sat down in an arm-chair, rested his head back, and closed his eyes.

  ‘I’m tired,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had much sleep since it happened.’

  ‘I am seventy-one,’ he said flatly.

  I was utterly astounded. Until that day I would have put him in the late fifties.

  ‘You can’t be.’

  ‘Time passes,’ he said. ‘Seventy-one.’

  ‘If I hadn’t suggested going after Kraye it wouldn’t have happened,’ I said with remorse. ‘I’m so sorry… so sorry…’

  He opened his eyes. ‘It wasn’t your fault. If it was anyone’s it was my own. You wouldn’t have let Hagbourne take those photographs to Seabury, if it had been left to you. I know you didn’t like it, that I’d given them to him. Letting the photographs go to Seabury was the direct cause of the bombs, and it was my mistake, not yours.’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly tell,’ I protested.

  ‘I should have known better, after all these years. I think… perhaps I may not see so clearly… consequences, things like that.’ His voice died to a low, miserable murmur. ‘Because I gave the photographs to Hagbourne… you lost your hand.’

  ‘No,’ I said decisively. ‘It’s ridiculous to start blaming yourself for that. For heaven’s sake snap out of it. No one in the agency can afford to have you in this frame of mind. What are Dolly and Jack Copeland and Sammy and Chico and all the others to do if you don’t pick up the pieces?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘My hand was useless, anyway,’ I said. ‘And if I’d been willing to give in to Kraye I needn’t have lost it. It had nothing whatever to do with you.’

  He stood up.

  ‘You told
Kraye a lot of lies,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t lie to me.’

  ‘Naturally not.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Concentrate on it. It’ll come in time.’

  ‘You don’t show much respect for your elders.’

  ‘Not when they behave like bloody fools,’ I agreed dryly.

  He blew down his nostrils, smouldering inwardly. But all he said was, ‘And you? Will you still work for me?’

  ‘It depends on you. I might kill us all next time.’

  ‘I’ll take the risk.’

  ‘All right then. Yes. But we haven’t finished this time, yet. Did Chico get the negatives?’

  ‘Yes. He had two sets of prints done this morning. One for him, and he gave me one to bring to you. He said you’d want them, but I didn’t think…’

  ‘But you did bring them?’ I urged.

  ‘Yes, they’re outside in my car. Are you sure…?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ I said in exasperation. ‘I can hardly wait.’

  By the following day I had acquired several more pillows, a bedside telephone, and a reputation for being a difficult patient.

  The agency re-started work that morning, squeezing into Radnor’s own small house. Dolly rang to say it was absolute hell, there was only one telephone instead of thirty, the blitz spirit was fortunately in operation, not to worry about a thing, there was a new word going round the office, it was Halley-lujah, and goodbye, someone else’s turn now.

  Chico rang a little later from a call box.

  ‘Sammy found that driver, Smith,’ he said. ‘He went to see him in Birmingham yesterday. Now that Kraye’s in jug Smith is willing to turn Queen’s evidence. He agreed that he did take two hundred and fifty quid, just for getting out of his cab, unclipping the chains when the tanker had gone over, and sitting on the side of the road moaning and putting on an act. Nice easy money.’

  ‘Good,’ I said.

  ‘But that’s not all. The peach of it is he still has the money, most of it, in a tin box, saving it for a deposit on a house. That’s what tempted him, apparently, needing money for a house. Anyway, Kraye paid him the second instalment in tenners, from one of the blocks you photographed in his case. Smith still has one of the actual tenners in the pictures. He agreed to part with that for evidence, but I can’t see anyone making him give the rest back, can you?’

  ‘Not exactly!’

  ‘So we’ve got Kraye nicely tied up on malicious damage.’

  ‘That’s terrific,’ I said. ‘What are they holding him on now?’

  ‘G.B.H. And the others for aiding and abetting.’

  ‘Consecutive sentences, I trust.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky.’

  I sighed. ‘All the same, he still owns twenty-three per cent of Seabury’s shares.’

  ‘So he does,’ agreed Chico gloomily.

  ‘How bad exactly is the office?’ I asked.

  ‘They’re surveying it still. The outside walls look all right, it’s just a case of making sure. The inside was pretty well gutted.’

  ‘We could have a better lay-out,’ I said. ‘And a lift.’

  ‘So we could,’ he said happily. ‘And I’ll tell you something else which might interest you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The house next door is up for sale.’

  I was asleep when Charles came in the afternoon, and he watched me wake up, which was a pity. The first few seconds of consciousness were always the worst: I had the usual hellish time, and when I opened my eyes, there he was.

  ‘Good God, Sid,’ he said in alarm. ‘Don’t they give you anything?’

  I nodded, getting a firmer grip on things.

  ‘But with modern drugs, surely… I’m going to complain.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But Sid…’

  ‘They do what they can, I promise you. Don’t look so upset. It’ll get better in a few days. Just now it’s a bore, that’s all… Tell me about Fred.’

  Fred had already been at the house when the police guard arrived at Aynsford. Four policemen had gone there, and it took all four to hold him, with Charles going back and helping as well.

  ‘Did he do much damage?’ I asked. ‘Before the police got there?’

  ‘He was very methodical, and very quick. He had been right through my desk, and all the wardroom. Every envelope, folder and notebook had been ripped apart, and the debris was all in a heap, ready to be destroyed. He’d started on the dining-room when the police arrived. He was very violent. And they found a box of plastic explosive lying on the hall table, and some more out in the van.’ He paused. ‘What made you think he would come?’

  ‘They knew I took the photographs at Aynsford, but how would they know I got them developed in London? I was afraid they might think I’d had them done locally, and that they’d think you’d know where the negatives were, as it was you who inveigled Kraye down there in the first place.’

  He smiled mischievously. ‘Will you come to Aynsford for a few days when you get out of here?’

  ‘I’ve heard that somewhere before,’ I said. ‘No thanks.’

  ‘No more Krayes,’ he promised. ‘Just a rest.’

  ‘I’d like to, but there won’t be time. The agency is in a dicky state. And I’ve just been doing to my boss what you did to me at Aynsford.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Kicking him out of depression into action.’

  His smile twisted in amusement.

  ‘Do you know how old he is?’ I said.

  ‘About seventy, why?’

  I was surprised. ‘I’d no idea he was that age, until he told me yesterday.’

  Charles squinted at the tip of his cigar. He said, ‘You always thought I asked him to give you a job, didn’t you? And guaranteed your wages.’

  I made a face at him, embarrassed.

  ‘You may care to know it wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t know him personally, only by name. He sought me out one day in the club and asked me if I thought you’d be any good at working with him. I said yes, I thought you would. Given time.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  He smiled. ‘I told him you played a fair game of chess. Also that you had become a jockey simply through circumstances, because you were small and your mother died, and that you could probably succeed at something else just as easily. He said that from what he’d seen of you racing you were the sort of chap he needed. He told me then how old he was. That’s all. Nothing else. Just how old he was. But we both understood what he was saying.’

  ‘I nearly threw it away,’ I said. ‘If it hadn’t been for you…’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said wryly. ‘You have a lot to thank me for. A lot.’

  Before he went I asked him to look at the photographs, but he studied them one by one and handed them back shaking his head.

  Chief-Inspector Cornish rang up to tell me Fred was not only in the bag but sewn up.

  ‘The bullets match all right. He drew the same gun on the men who arrested him, but one of them fortunately threw a vase at him and knocked it out of his hand before he could shoot.’

  ‘He was a fool to keep that gun after he had shot Andrews.’

  ‘Stupid. Crooks often are, or we’d never catch them. And he didn’t mention his little murder to Kraye and the others, so they can’t be pinched as accessories to that. Pity. But it’s quite clear he kept it quiet. The Sussex force said that Kraye went berserk when he found out. Apparently he mostly regretted not having known about your stomach while he had you in his clutches.’

  ‘Thank God he didn’t!’ I exclaimed with feeling.

  Cornish’s chuckle came down the wire. ‘Fred was supposed to look for Brinton’s letter at your agency himself, but he wanted to go to a football match up North or something, and sent Andrews instead. He said he didn’t think there’d be a trap, or anything subtle like that. Just an errand, about on Andrews’ level. He said
he only lent him the gun for a lark, he didn’t mean Andrews to use it, didn’t think he’d be so silly. But then Andrews went back to him scared stiff and said he’d shot you, so Fred says he suggested a country ramble in Epping Forest and the gun went off by accident! I ask you, try that on a jury! Fred says he didn’t tell Kraye because he was afraid of him.’

  ‘What! Fred afraid?’

  ‘Kraye seems to have made an adverse impression on him.’

  ‘Yes, he’s apt to do that,’ I said.

  I read Chico’s booklet from cover to cover. One had to thank the thalidomide children, it appeared, for the speed-up of modern techniques. As soon as my arm had properly healed I could have a versatile gas-powered tool-hand with a swivelling wrist, activated by small pistons and controlled by valves, and operated by my shoulder muscles. The main snag to that, as far as I could gather, was that one always had to carry the small gas cylinders about, strapped on, like a permanent skin diver.

  Much more promising, almost fantastic, was the latest invention of British and Russian scientists, the myo-electric arm. This worked entirely by harnessing the tiny electric currents generated in ones own remaining muscles, and the booklet cheerfully said it was easiest to fit on someone whose amputation was recent. The less one had lost of a limb, the better were ones chances of success. That put me straight in the guinea seats.

  Finally, said the booklet with a justifiable flourish of trumpets, at St Thomas’ Hospital they had invented a miraculous new myo-electric hand which could do practically everything a real one could except grow nails.

  I missed my real hand, there was no denying it. Even in its deformed state it had had its uses, and I suppose that any loss of so integral a part of oneself must prove a radical disturbance. My unconscious mind did its best to reject the facts: I dreamed each night that I was whole, riding races, tying knots, clapping… anything which required two hands. I awoke to the frustrating stump.